


Girl Meets Gumshoe

by Monica_Rambeau



Series: Rilaya-verse [16]
Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Detectives, F/F, Literary Cosplay, Rilaya, girl meets world - Freeform, gmw, i'm enjoying myself far too much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-04-21 14:11:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14286648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monica_Rambeau/pseuds/Monica_Rambeau
Summary: There are a million stories in the naked city, but only one sees ace P.I. Maya Hunter on the trail of a little lost lamb who's late for her appointment with the butcher. Is her quarry really the ingenue she seems, or will this femme prove fatale in... Honey On Ice!(or: SHUT UP, I'M HAVING FUN!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Artic2050](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artic2050/gifts).



> More Literary Cosplay (TM Artic2050) for Rilaya, because hey, why not?!
> 
> I promise I'll get back to Season 7 after this, but in the meantime, please enjoy this ridiculous drabble!

The name’s Hunter. Maya Hunter.

I’m a private detective.

Not exactly a glamorous career choice, I’ll grant you, and if you asked my mother you’d get a slew of much less polite descriptions of the occupation, but it seems a little late to apply to secretarial school at this point. Besides, I doubt they’d be thrilled to see a five-foot-nothing blonde in a rumpled grey suit march through the door with a Beretta strapped to her shoulder.

The suit always holds people up, and I can’t exactly blame them. Rosie may have traded in her gingham dress for a thick pair of riveter’s jeans a few years back, but since the shooting stopped the idea of a lady wearing pants was only acceptable to the world at large if the cuffs ended well above the knee and the lady was dancing on a stage collecting dimes.

I don't have much time for that way of thinking.

My job requires more than a little running, jumping, kicking, crawling and, on especially bad days, falling from a not insubstantial height. A skirt provides a nice bit’a updraft in those warm New York summers, but it doesn’t make any of those activities easier, nor does the added inconvenience of lugging around a purse when two pockets will easily carry both my empty money clip and my less-empty flask without complaint.

Plenty of fellas, and more gals than you might expect, have taken issue with my sartorial choices over the years, but that’s what the other pocket is for: It holds a nifty little blackjack that my assistant got me last Christmas, and an ever refilled roll of nickels to tuck in my fist. I may be a short little stack’a pancakes, but a Two Dollar Special to Billy and the boys will knock just about any man down to convenient nose-breaking height.

Just how I like them: On their knees and bleeding.

That’s not to say that I hate men as a rule, you understand. Why, I could count several that I didn’t mind hanging around, although I’d still have enough fingers left over to show the rest what I thought of them. Maybe my patience for their behavior isn't as extended by biological imperatives as other members of the sisterhood, or maybe I’ve been let down by one too many to start letting them past the velvet rope now, but either way I don't have much use for them socially.

As clients, on the other hand, they aren't half bad. Once they get over the shock and horror at the gender of the detective they're hiring, they mostly talk straight business and pay up on time. In general, men don’t have a lotta respect for dames, but once you earn it you’re just another one of the guys. I earn it by getting the job done and keeping the expense account only moderately padded… mostly.

The terms ‘client’ and ‘pay’ were, of course, entirely theoretical as the agency had neither on that grey September morning as I dragged the ten-pound hangover under my hat into the office. As I walked into what could generously be described as our waiting room, I was greeted by the sight of Ava behind the desk, her hair up, as usual, and her nails currently being renovated for what was sure to be a very lucky gentleman later on in the day. She raised a sculpted eyebrow at me as I entered.

“You look like garbage,” she offered, returning to her nails.

“Well good, because I feel like shit. Nice to know I’m cutting a more professional figure,” I hissed, checking the mail in the inbox.

“Have fun last night?”

“Does it still count as last night if you haven’t been to bed?”

“Gonna have to check my Emily Post. Nice shiner, by the way.”

I felt my eye, surprised to find that it was quite a bit more swollen than the other.

“Dancin’ with a leggy redhead at Malley’s. Couple gentlemen patrons didn’t like that so much.”

“How dead are they?”

“Not at all, but one of ‘em really oughtta find a good dentist… and a new kneecap.”

“You’re the All-American Girl, boss.”

“I sure as hell oughtta be! Just think where this country would be.”

“We might have some issues propagating the species, for one…”

“Clam up, harpy. This all the mail?”

“I assume so, but finding out for sure would’a meant replying to any of Auggie the Mailman’s squeaky come-ons.”

“When’re you gonna let that boy make an honest woman outta you?”

“As soon as Mr. Truman bumps a postman’s salary up to six figures.”

“That all you care about? Money?”

“Of course not! I also care about the things you can BUY with money!”

“Now who’s the All-American Girl?”

“Sister, if you don’t think my worldview is All-American then I’ve got some news for you…”

“Save it for the special edition. I’m gonna go take a nap under my desk.”

“Might not be the best time for that, chief…” Ava offered casually as I moved to my office door.

“No lip from you, Rockefeller! You work for _me_ , and if the boss wants to sleep off a night of whiskey with a side of concussion on a Wednesday morning, you just ask how high, got it?”

Ava seemed to take a moment, working her way through my, admittedly, jumbled pile of metaphors before shrugging with a smug smile. One of these days I was gonna have to get around to firing her…

“Have it your way, _boss_ …” she said, absently.

I turned the door handle, opening the grey door into my greyer office to find a decidedly not grey man sitting patiently in the client chair. At my entrance he stood up formally, allowing me a full view of his brown police uniform, star-shaped badge glistening in the overcast light managing to sneak in through the blinds. The name read ‘Friar.’ He nodded agreeably and began to speak before I raised a sudden finger, silencing him.

“Be with you in a moment, sir,” I managed in something resembling English before closing the door to stare a hole through my assistant’s head. After a few seconds she looked up at me, grinning through her teeth.

“Oh, you have a client,” she chirped.

“You’re fired,” I growled. She raised that damn eyebrow again.

“Really? Your hand steady enough to take notes, there, Rummy?”

I paused for a minute, searching desperately for a way in which she wasn’t right.

“You’re hired,” I conceded, “Now scooch your notepad in here and earn your keep.”

“Fresh!” She cooed as she sauntered past me into our parlor. Now it was just time to figure out if our new client was the spider… or the fly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, this is gonna take more than 5 chapters, turns out... Hope you're along for the ride!

I’d been in Sheriff Lucas Friar’s company for less than two minutes and I already didn’t like him.

Of course, if I refused to take on clients that I didn’t like on spec I’d be out of a job pretty damn quick, so he was in good company.

He sat upright and rigid, but he didn’t seem tense. I assumed that this was just his natural state, polite and at attention. I wondered if he’d picked that up wearing army fatigues or if he’d been plucked outta the ground this way. It figured that small town sheriffs were grown in crops, as I’d never met a one who was out of step with the cliché. Friar, with his uniform pressed and an oafish smile just barely hidden behind his sense of propriety, fit the bill better than most.

The main problem with this was that, when people obligingly fall into nice little categorized boxes, folks have a tendency to think that they know everything they need to know about them. And brother, I’ve been knocked-out from behind enough times to know that I never know what I know, if y’know what I mean.

Once the introductions had been made, my hair tied back so as to imply slightly less that a family of raccoons had just been evicted from it, and my overheated assistant perched on the corner of my desk, legs crossed with a leer about as professional as an Olympic gymnast, I decided to coax our prospective pigeon to make with the exposition.

“Alright, Sheriff, let’s hear it.”

He seemed confused for a moment.

“Ah, pardon me, ma’am?” He stuttered.

“I assume that it was more than idle curiosity that brought you to a private detective in Manhattan all the way from…” I trailed off, encouraging him to fill in the blank.

“Hanover. Pennsylvania.” The boy was quick picking up his cues, I’d give him that.

“Thank you. Hanover. The sooner you tell me your problem, the sooner you can pay me to fix it.”

Ava chuckled a little at this, eyes on her notepad. If you think the blunt assertion of my intentions in this transaction seemed like an odd move with a prospective client, then you haven’t done much business with men-types. Coy deference and feigned concern made their teeth itch, but greed was a motivation that they could wrap their mostly empty heads around. It tended to help them relax.

“Aha, of course,” he said, a rustic accent riding sidesaddle on every word. “I’m here because I’m looking for someone…”

“Ain’t we all?” Ava chimed in, aiming her eyebrow at someone other than me for a change.

Looking at Friar, I wondered if small-town Sheriffs were allowed to blush that much on duty.

“I-I beg your pardon, ma’am, but I’m lookin’ for someone a bit more specific. A young woman left town about a month ago. Very sudden, surprised everyone…”

“And your relationship to this fair maiden…?”

“Well, not so much other than friendly, I suppose. She was a waitress at the diner in town, always talked about big dreams she had for leavin’, movin’ to the city. Singin’, you know, or writin’. It was different every week…” That oafish smile finally managed it’s way out from behind his composure.

“Sounds like a bit more than a ‘friendly’ acquaintance,” I offered without qualification.

The smile vanished as he straightened back up.

“No, ma’am, you got it wrong. I just… I try to look out for everyone in my town, especially the young ladies…”

“Is that a fact…?” Ava leaned forward.

“Down, girl,” I said without looking.

Friar blushed again. I was half tempted to invite him to my poker game at this point. I could use a new hat.

“Riley’s a sweet girl…” he said, turning back to me, “And she’s so young, barely grown at all…”

“How young, exactly, are we talking?” I asked, feeling like I had an idea of the answer.

“Twenty-one, last December.”

“Hmm,” I nodded. “Y’know, we have another word for girls who are ‘barely grown…’”

“Grown?” Ava answered, cheerfully.

“Look at her, readin’ my mind,” I deadpanned.

“Normally, I’d agree with you, Ms. Hunter,” Friar responded in a voice that made me trust him even less, “But this situation’s a bit more complex than all that.”

Before I could launch a lewd retort, he slid a piece of paper across my desk. It was a police circular, urging officers to be on the lookout for Riley Matthews, suspected felon.

I conceded that, yes, this made things more complex.

“Fella by the name’a Minkus owns a sizeable chunk of Hanover and the surrounding county, makin’ him a bit of a big shot in town. Now, we’ve always suspected that he’s had dealin’s that were a bit… less than legitimate, if you’ll pardon my candor…”

“Please! My delicate constitution!” I offered.

“I do beg your pardon, ma’am…” he responded without irony. Where the hell did I find these yahoos? “At any rate, we’ve never been able to tie him to anything illegal, but folks in town know that his boys often travel around with large sums’a money on them.”

“Got a bad feelin’ where this is goin’…” Ava sighed.

“One night, four of these fellas came into the diner, plenty soused and carryin’ a hefty bag. They had their meal and, when they went to pay the check, found that the bag had disappeared, along with their waitress. That was five weeks ago, and no one’s seen Riley since.”

“Any idea why the little milk maid would take a risk like that?”

“None specific, but I can’t imagine it’s all that different from most folks. Girl sees all her hopes an’ dreams just sittin’ in a duffle, guarded by four guys drunker’n lords. Can’t blame her too much, I suppose.”

“Quite a line comin’ from a cop. You oughtta teach the NYPD some lessons on compassion. Save me a few broken ribs next time.”

He chuckled at that, a bit proud. “Can’t take the country outta the boy, I guess. In any case, Minkus filed charges against Riley to us local cops, but used some pull to make sure word didn’t get much farther than that. Makes me think he don’t want that bag found by anyone not under his thumb.”

“But I’m betting that he does want it found…” I said, picking up the tune.

“That’s my fear. Rumors about thing’s Minkus has done, or hired people to do… I just wanna find Riley, bring her home where we can protect her. Last bus outta Hanover that night was to New York, so here I am.”

I glanced over at Ava, the drool finally dried up on her chin, as she looked back at me with a sympathetic shrug. She was soft on the lug. Shocker.

I had to admit, the story sounded good… and that was the problem. I trust a cop motivated by altruism like I trust a scorpion asking for a lift across the river. But a case was a case, and the office ledger was getting’ a little heavy with red ink for me to turn down anyone short of Mengele. Now it was just a matter of making sure this cowboy knew who wore the spurs around here.

“Alright, Huckleberry, I’ll take the case. I can’t guarantee I’ll find her in one piece, but if she’s here to be found it’ll get done. Gonna need a few more details, and a photo if you’ve got one handy. We get thirty dollars a day—“

“Plus expenses,” Ava said quickly, eyes still on her notes.

“-- plus expenses, and we’ll need three days in advance. If we wrap this up ahead of that, we refund the difference. Hanover County footing the bill, here?”

He shook his head as he reached for his wallet. “No, this’ll be on me. Don’t want any of my… colleagues tipping off Minkus.”

“Right…” I said as Ava counted his retainer. If that girl ever looked at a man the way she looked at those greenbacks she’d have half the city down at her boots.

Friar clasped his hands together, satisfied. “So, where do we start?”

I pulled an Ava with my eyebrow.

“’We’ start by going back to ‘our’ hotel room and waiting for a report from the detective ‘we’ hired.”

Friar stood at this, completely incensed.

“No. No, ma’am. I’ll be going along. I’m a lawman, after all, and Riley—“

“Two problems with that, Ranger Rick,” I said firmly, rising myself to nearly half his height but with twice his bluster. “First, the places I’ll be heading to start this investigation don’t always take kindly to gentlemen in uniform, and even if you changed you smell like a cop from thirty paces.”

His head jutted back, as if I’d started speaking Russian.

“Second, when I do find this girl I’ll be having a conversation with her that you are not welcome to join, before I decide whether to tell you or not.”

If he was confused and annoyed before, he’d traded it in for outraged in less than a second. I didn’t move as he nearly burst into flames.

“Why in the hell wouldn’t you tell me?! I’m payin’ you to—“

“You are paying me to find Riley Matthews, if such a creature can be found, NOT to tie her up and toss her in your trunk. Now maybe this gal’s a common crook, or maybe there’s more to the story, but she gets a say in how the last chapter plays out. She makes a decision that you don’t like, I refund your money and we’re all a few days older and no richer.”

I leaned forward, hoping the light from the window would give me a nice intimidating shadow.

“I find out you’ve lied to me, our contract is terminated, no refund is given and I decide how to deal with my sense of betrayal, delicate flower that I am. You don’t like it? Head on back to the other five detectives who turned you down before you darkened my door. I’m sure they’re all thrilled to take on this budget goose chase with hitmen thrown in for flavor.”

We stared at each other for a long moment, the only movement in the room made by Ava as she glanced back and forth between us. Finally, the lawman blinked, tossing a photograph down onto my desk.

“Just… please find her, Ms. Hunter. Before someone else does.”


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing to learn about the detective business is to forget everything you’ve seen at the pictures or read in a dime novel. Most people have an image in their minds of non-stop action, beautiful dames and betrayal around every corner. Now, don’t get me wrong, those things do tend to crop up here and there, but more often than not this job consists of sitting, waiting, reading and, heaven forbid, walking.

But that leads into the second thing to learn about the detective business: Unless completely unavoidable, you should endeavor to do as little work as humanly possible.

You might assume that rule has more than a passing relation to a certain seamus of your acquaintance and her habit of enjoying a drink or six before lunch. While you’re not completely wrong, more than anything this rule is good for the client. Working lazier also means working smarter than harder, and the harder you work a case, the less ground you actually cover. I could’ve tromped all over the island and surrounding boroughs waving the, admittedly gorgeous, photo that Sheriff Hopalong had given me for a week and come up goose egg, but when it came to finding people there was always a smarter way to do it.

With a girl, lost in the city, the first place to check was the papers for a Jane Doe. Sorry if that sounds pessimistic but the odds don’t lie. That made my first stop the city library periodicals section. I wasn’t exactly wild about sifting through microfiche, but the five week window at least made the search a bit more realistic. Three hours later my eyes had started going loop-the-loop just in time to conclude that nobody answering the description of Riley Matthews washed up outta the East River. A good enough start, but those damn odds kept ringin’ in my head, so I set out to make double sure.

Izzy Smackle was the top crime reporter for the Post, and that made her a tough gal to get ahold of. She was always up to her neck in some disaster or another, glasses perfectly adjusted and the least-plussed look you can imagine on her face. Ol’ Smackle had seen it all and kissed its grandma, and she didn’t spook for nothin’. If she ever sat still for more than two minutes, I’d have had the time to fall head over heels for her. As it was, though, she was a ghost, a voice on the phone callin’ in the story and a name on a byline.

Of course, even ghosts have patterns, if you know how to look. That’s what brought me to Mallick’s Coffee for an afternoon pick-me-up at exactly 4:15, just in time to see a green blur in a swell new hat rush up to the counter and order the largest dose of caffeine allowed by law. She tossed her coins on the counter and turned, nearly running over the rakish young detective now in her way. She stopped, cracking me a tiny smile. She didn’t do that for just anybody.

“Hunter. What’s the angle?”

“Ouch, Izzy! No time for pillow talk?”

“That would imply that I sleep, and I won’t stand for such slander. Make with a lead or get outta my way.”

“Got a favor to ask…”

She sighed quickly, which I wasn’t aware was possible.

“I do stories, not favors. You got something to trade, maybe we can talk, but do it fast.”

“Aww, c’mon, Smacks! You owe me one, remember? I saved your life on the Harper job!”

“Yes, but I saved yours TWICE on the Keiner story, so looks like I’m on top.”

I leaned in close with a smirk under my smoky eyes.

“Are we still talkin’ about work?”

“Sister, you wouldn’t know what to do with me.”

“I dunno, I just got a new pair’a handcuffs…”

“Then you better use ‘em, because I’ve got places to be.” With that she strode past me at speed. It was everything I could do to catch back up with her on the busy sidewalk.

“Izzy, c’mon, do me a solid! You look at a picture, you listen to a name, then I’m gone.”

She stopped at the intersection, the red light preventing her from continuing on her merry way and forcing her to face me with her oil drum of a coffee cup.

“Fine. What’s the story?”

“Missing woman, might be caught up in some trouble.”

“Print-worthy trouble?”

“Not if I can help it, but we know how that usually goes…”

A light chuckle from Smackle. She didn’t move when the light changed.

“Name,” she ordered.

“Riley Matthews. 5’5”, brunette, legs for days?”

Smackle seemed to ponder for a moment before shaking her head.

“Doesn’t ring a bell. She hasn’t been found dead, if that’s what you’re after, at least not with that name. Haven’t heard anything about a gal like that getting’ pinched, either.”

Another bit’a good, if unhelpful, news. If a body’d dropped somewhere in the city and it didn’t make the papers, either the story wasn’t ready or there was a cover-up, and Smackle would’a known either way.

I passed her the photo, figuring there wasn’t much chance of even Smackle recognizing some random farm girl if she wasn’t dead or detained.

Suddenly, that chuckle again, and more of a smile than I’d seen on Izzy’s face in a long time.

“This is the girl you’re after?”

“Yeah. You seen her?”

“Better than that, bright eyes, I can tell you right where to find her and when.”

Second rule of detective work. And don’t you forget it!

“Hit me, gorgeous.”

“Topanga’s, 10 o’clock. Trust me, you couldn’t miss her if you tried.”

“Izzy, I could kiss you!”

The shorter gal reached up and flicked my hat.

“If you could catch me…”

I didn’t even turn away and somehow she’d disappeared into the crowd before I could even banter back.


	4. Chapter 4

I didn’t have to ask Smackle about Topanga’s when she mentioned it. Everybody in town knew Topanga’s, and she paid good money to make sure that the cops DIDN’T know Topanga’s. That’s the kinda balancing act you have to pull when you run the city’s most exclusive gambling house on the sly, and nobody danced across that high wire like Topanga Lawrence. She was a legend in New York well before I hung my shingle and she didn’t seem to be slowin’ down anytime soon. Her joint was classy, upscale and dignified with just enough sin and sizzle to keep the reputables and disreputables alike lining up around the block every night for another taste of the highs and lows of the roulette wheel.

If the tip was solid and I found my little turtledove perched on this particular pear tree, it presented a new series of problems. Topanga may be a class act, but she wasn’t exactly Lady Law and Order, and if Matthews found her right off the bus it made the more innocent version of her story lose water real fast. But hey, who hasn’t gone in on a job when they needed one, regardless of what it was? I certainly wasn’t gonna start throwing rocks in that particular glass house. Grabbing for a slice’a prosperity’s comeback wasn’t enough to condemn the kid in my book, but it sure didn’t help her case.

I wasn’t sure just what Riley Matthews was yet, but I figured it was about time to find out.

9:30 that evening found me dressed to the nines in my light grey vest and slacks, complimented by the same tired overcoat I wore every day. It was a look that hadn’t been fashionable since before the war (and I mean the Crimean), but I wasn’t lookin’ to be the belle of the ball. I had a few questions for Cinderella, and they had nothing to do with her footwear.

I cut quite an intimidating figure emerging from the fog rolling off the East River as I strolled up to a, by all outward appearances, abandoned warehouse by the docks. The dingy building looked like it has been deliberately coated in algae (which, come to think of it, it probably had been), but the large steel door that I knocked on seemed in better repair than most in a two mile radius. A panel slid open, revealing a set of steel grey eyes that were clearly crouching just to reach the human height of the peep hole. I gave a smile and a coy waggle of my fingers, prompting the panel to slide closed quickly. A bit of shuffling behind the door and I was granted entry, ushered in by a mountain of a man in a tailor-made tuxedo.

“Hey, Frankie,” I said, reaching up to slap him on the chest, “How’s the poetry?”

“Not so good, Ms. Hunter,” the giant muttered, his voice about ninety octaves softer than you’d expect, “I cannot seem to grasp a rhyme for ‘effervescent.’”

I scratched my chin in the sparsely appointed anti-chamber.

“Pleasant? Pheasant?”

“Beg your pardon, Ms. Hunter, but those are slant rhymes at best.”

“C’mon, Frankie, you’re a slave to your medium! Live a little!”

The big lug brightened at this.

“Sound advice, as always, Ms. Hunter. I surly will,” he said with a smile as he opened the second door, allowing the thumping percussion and blaring horns of the band to slip through the tightly soundproofed barrier. I tossed Frankie a well-deserved wink and strolled inside.

I’ve never been to Vegas, but I can’t imagine that their biggest Saturday fight night could compare to an average Wednesday at Topanga’s. The band was in rare form, smashin’ out an upbeat swing number that had half the joint out on the dance floor, while the other half delighted in drinks and dark corners, or bopped along as they gleefully tossed away their nest eggs at the tables. The place always felt hot, not in temperature but more like the entire room was vibrating with something ethereal, as if this little pocket world was fighting with all it’s might to stay removed from the grim, cold reality outside those steel doors.

I’d lingered for just a moment to soak it all in when a red dress sauntered up to me from the bar, barely holding the substantial curves of the queen of this particular castle. She had a drink in each hand and a smile on her scarlet lips, matching her outfit and the décor of her den of inequity.

“Maya Hunter, as I live and breathe,” she said in her breathy voice, offering me the tumbler while she kept hold of the martini.

“Topanga,” I returned with the proper reverent nod. I swirled the liquid in the glass. “Lagavulin?”

“30 years,” she smirked, ushering me to an empty table above the dining and dancing section. “I’ve been saving it for your triumphant return.”

“Ah, it hasn’t been that long…”

“Months,” she said like a reprimanding mother.

“You know I’d come around more often, but your prices are slightly higher than what I ferment myself behind the radiator…”

“Oh, cut it, Maya. You know your money’s no good here.”

It wasn’t just my interest in the poetic arts that got me in the door to a place that I otherwise couldn’t afford to spit in. I’d done a good turn for Topanga a few years back when the Moore mob had kidnapped her husband in the interest of encouraging protection payments. I’d returned the mister, not a curly hair out of place, and made sure Angela Moore herself knew what’d happen if she tried a stunt like that again. Ever since I’d been like one of the family, a perk I tried not to abuse. Topanga was a swell lady, illegal operation notwithstanding, and besides, a drink tastes better if you steal it fair and square.

“Still can’t understand what a dame like you is doin’ with that squeaky fella I rescued...”

“He makes me laugh,” she said, a soft smile on her lips. She turned to me with a raised eyebrow. “You’ll know you’ve got your soulmate when you laugh at their worst joke.”

I rolled my eyes behind my drink as I pulled a photo from my coat.

“I’m not lookin’ for a soulmate, Topanga, just a lost one.” I slid the photo across to her. She picked it up and, within a second, her smile had dropped away. She narrowed her eyes to look at me.

“What’s your interest?” Her breathy voice suddenly had a protective air to it. I didn’t flinch.

“Been hired to find her. I’m here to have a chat with her about whether or not she wants to be found.”

Topanga considered me, still very serious.

“That something you normally do?”

“Yes,” I answered without hesitation.

She thought for another moment before allowing her smile to creep back in.

“Good. She’ll be at the bar in about four songs.”

I furrowed my brow.

“The gal’s that regular, huh?”

Before Topanga could get out much more than a chuckle the lights dimmed, the band sliding out of their dance number into something a bit more bassy and seductive. The back lights on the stage suddenly rose up, creating a tall, slender silhouette in front of the microphone. The entire place fell silent in a second. In one smooth motion a hand reached up, steadying the mic as she leaned forward ever so slightly.

She sung her first slow, silky note as the lights swapped to illuminate the owner of those pipes…

I damn near fell out of my seat.

Brown was too ugly of a word for her hair, I decided immediately, so I wracked my brain for a better description of the flowing waves falling over one of her eyes, leaving the other smoky orb sharing contact with the myriad others fixed on her in the dead-silent crowd. I settled on deep hazel because it sounded anywhere near as beautiful as it needed to.

I’d been carrying her picture around all day, of course, and there’d been more than a few moments where I caught myself gazing at the image of a grinning waitress in a ponytail for a bit too long, but seeing her in person, bathed in light and parting her perfect cherry lips to hypnotize the men in the audience into doin’ right like some other men do, it took everything I had not to melt into a puddle beneath my table.

Her purple dress held tight just below her shoulders even as it somehow managed to reach all the way down her endless legs to her matching shoes, save for a modestly revealing slit down the side displaying a series of smooth curves that I’d have killed to take a ride on. The dress shimmered in the stage lights, but not with the cheap pageantry most gals were trying to pass off as upmarket these days. No, this was subtle and resplendent, like she was glowing underwater.

Her voice picked up as she reached the climax, the band following suit, and at that exact moment her roving eye met mine, just for a second. I’ve been shot, stabbed, beat up and knocked out more times than I can count, but I’ve never been hit like that. Her mouth, already holding a satisfied grin throughout the performance, seemed to shudder at that moment, like maybe she’d been jolted, too, somewhere deep down where the important parts of your heart ran together, churning your past into tiny strands of hope.

By the time she got to the line about getting her some money, too, I found myself subconsciously reaching into my pocket, ready to start tossin’ bills her way. Anything to get that shudder again.

Who the hell _was_ this girl?

As she wrapped up her first number and the crowd erupted into violent applause, I turned to see Topanga staring at me rather than the show, a knowing smile on her lips.

“Ahem… somethin’ to say, Lawrence?” I managed, straightening my tie.

“You’ve got drool on your chin.”

I immediately wiped my face with the back of my hand before catching on to the gag.

“Tough it out, kiddo,” she teased as she stood to resume her mingling. “Just three more songs…”


	5. Chapter 5

It took me another two songs to regain the feeling in my legs, but by the start of the third I made my way over to the bar, ordering a refill from Topanga’s generous comp bottle. I leaned against the fine oak, glass swirling in my hand, waiting for the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen to make her way over.

I wouldn’t say that I’m a sucker for any old pretty face, but Ava would be all too glad to tell you that I’ve had my judgement clouded in the past by an especially long pair of legs. Those instances generally ended with me unconscious and handcuffed to a pipe somewhere… but enough about my hobbies.

I watched with my brow raised as my quarry stepped down from the stage to tremendous applause and more than a few admirers, presumably offering to buy her a drink, or possibly a small country. She brushed them aside with a congenial air as she made her way toward the bar, smiling rows of perfect white teeth in what I can only call an exuberant state. It was clear that she loved her job, and she glowed with the joy of it all the way across the room.

But I wasn’t there to admire the talent on display. I was on a case, and another swig of expensive liquor got me focused on my task once again.

There was never an easy way to play something like this. If I told her the whole score from jump street there’s every chance she’d run for the hills, guilty or no. Better to spend a bit of time talking, get a feel for who this girl was, and whether she was worth the paternal instincts of Sheriff Huckleberry in the first place. Gobsmacked as I was, I still didn’t know Riley Matthews, and there was only one way to alleviate that.

I smirked as she approached the bar, exhaling heavily through her smile. I might have been glowing a bit, myself, because at that moment I sure as hell loved my job, too.

“What’ll it be, doll?” The bartender asked.

“Hmmm…” she hummed, perfectly in tune, “I think I’ll have a—“

“Peach Martini, on my tab, and another repair for me.” I tilted my hat at what I hoped was a rakish angle, never taking my eyes off of the brunette as I raised my glass.

She turned to me with surprise, but after a second she smiled with recognition. In the blink of an eye she’d moved from elation to coy flirtation, and I couldn’t tell how much of it was on purpose. Either this gal really was the innocent Friar had her pegged as, or she was very, very good.

“How’d you know what I wanted?” She asked, demure but bold.

“You look like a girl with a sweet tooth,” I offered as the drinks arrived. I grabbed mine and took a pull.

“Well, you were right, and thank you.” She nearly giggled with every word, and the promise of it just out of reach almost made me reach out to grab it.

“Least I can do for that show you put on.”

She smiled wider, tilting her head as she tried her drink.

“Yes, I… noticed you watching. You looked like you were enjoying yourself.”

“Honey, if I’d enjoyed myself any more I’d need a cigarette.”

She looked down at my left hand beside me, eyebrow rising as she followed it to my lips.

“You’re smoking a cigarette now,” she offered, her voice dropping an octave.

I looked at my hand as I exhaled.

“Well, would’ya look at that…”

That damned giggle finally escaped, washing over me like a warm breeze. I set down my drink and extended my hand casually.

“Maya Hunter,” I said.

She looked at me again with those endless hazel eyes. I nearly smacked myself to keep from losing the plot.

“Jexica,” she returned, taking my hand warmly.

I shook my head a bit.

“I’m sorry… _Jex-_ ica?”

Her smile grew more seductive, this time very clearly intentionally.

“It’s like ‘Jessica,” but… x-ier.”

And that was the end of the debate. For as confident as she was in the allure of her ridiculous fake name, this girl was no more of a dragon lady than Shirley Temple. All of the sensuality, all of the earnest joy, all of the glowing and effervescent wonder… it was no act. It was all her.

I decided then and there that I would kill this whole damned city to protect her.

“Y’know,” I said, stifling a loving chuckle, “I hate to resort to cliché, but…”

“What’s a nice girl like me doing in a place like this?” I clearly wasn’t the first one to ask.

“In a nutshell,” I responded.

She ran her eyes over her surroundings with a performative gesture.

“You don’t think this place is nice?” She cooed. She may not have been the snake I feared, but she certainly liked to play with her food, and she had no trouble keeping up with the banter.

“For a crooked cop or a Rockette, sure, it’s swell. You just seem a little… farm fresh for the illegal casino set.”

Her head jutted back a bit in indignation, but the warm smile on her face looked like it couldn’t be removed with turpentine. I felt a strange feeling in my chest as I considered that I might be having the same effect on her as she was on me. After a moment I recognized this alien sensation as joy.

“How do you know I’m not a New Yorker?” She challenged. I laughed.

“Pumpkin, if you’re from the city then I’m Gene Kelly.”

Her smile grew wider as she raised an eyebrow.

“You look taller in your pictures.”

“I get that a lot.”

She laughed at that, and it sounded like relief. A dame like this certainly wouldn’t have had any trouble charming folks when she glided into town, but that doesn’t always mean that you can find someone to synch with, to talk with free of pretense, of effort. Someone who made you feel like yourself, just by being _their_ self. This was a lesson I’d learned about three bon mots earlier, as I was having the same experience at that bar. We shared a long, lingering stare, as if confirming with the other what was going on.

It was broken when the background music changed tempo and ‘Jexica’ raised her head in response. A subtle color of disappointment followed her back to me.

“I’ve gotta go get ready for my next set… but maybe you’ll be here when I get back?” Her voice rose with hope. “I’d like to pay you back for the drink.”

“Well, these things aren’t cheap,” I purred smoothly. “That could take all night.”

She blushed hard before taking the final swig of her martini in one motion, licking her lips slowly upon finishing.

“Don’t disappear… Peaches.” With a wink, she turned and practically skipped to the stage door.

I couldn’t do much but stare after her as she made her way across the room. I lifted the brim of my hat with my thumb and whistled.

“Not on your life, Honey,” I said to myself.

The warmth rushed from my chest when I noticed that I wasn’t the only one staring.

She’d only been through the door next to the stage for an instant when a well-dressed goon gave a nod to another on the other side of the dance floor. I followed the signal to spot the other goon, one that I recognized.

“Gardner…” I growled.

Chuckie Gardner had been a hitter for the Moore mob before they dried up, at which point he'd struck out on his own. Our Chuckie didn’t have the brains for much more than killin’, but he was good enough at that to create his own little freelance operation. From the nods he sent around the room and the number of no-necks who responded, he’d even managed to get his own crew together to handle more… complicated gigs.

Like, for example, shaking down a singer at Topanga Lawrence’s club before dumping her in the river.

After the silent word had been passed all the way around Gardner’s squad fanned out, each approaching backstage by different routes, looking to cut off escape.

I cursed under my breath as I pulled out the Beretta and made my way toward the stage door after the first goon disappeared into it.

I’d meant what I said about killing the city for this girl… I just didn’t expect the tab to come up quite this soon.


	6. Chapter 6

The Beretta M1934 ain’t exactly a hand cannon, but I’m self-aware enough to know that a .45 ain’t practical for a five-foot girl detective to lug around in hot pursuit. I’ve fired a few of those big boys in my time, but it took more than a little effort to keep from landing on my ass after one shot, and most folks in a shoot-out don’t wait politely for you to take the proper stance.

That’s not to say that the Beretta couldn’t punch a hole through your head the size of an apple at the right angle, and I’ve always been fond of the little spur at the bottom of the clip. It made for an especially juicy crack when you walloped a skull with it.

This particular feature filled my head immediately as I slinked backstage after the incognito Riley Matthews and her unwanted gentleman caller.

There was plenty of shuffle and hustle going on behind the curtain, as a gaggle of dancing girls checked each other’s tights in preparation for their big number. Any other night I might’a paused a moment to offer my services, as checking ladies’ legs happened to be a specialty of mine, but I didn’t have the time. The band was looking around nervously for their singer to join them on stage, which meant the little lamb had already met her wolf.

I bruised my way through the performers and stage hands looking for anything out of place. I found it in the form of a spilled bucket of paint near a big wooden backdrop off to the side. It couldn’ta been like that for long or someone would’a slipped and broken their neck. As I backed up to the wood I just barely heard a muffled shriek over the band.

“Shut up, little girl!” Came another voice as I inched closer. “You tell me where Minkus’ bag is, we do this quick and easy. You make me work for it, and I’ll—“

One juicy crack later the gunsel was crumpled up on the floor and I was face-to-face with a certain gorgeous, and terrified, brunette.

“I’m sure that was gonna be colorful,” I said, extending my hand, “but I think we oughtta get gone, honey.”

“I…” She shuddered with shock. “I… have to sing…”

I sighed impatiently and stepped closer.

“You’re no fat lady, princess, but if you go out there and sing I guarantee the show’ll be over quick!”

Startled as she was she took my hand without hesitation, waiting as I checked for more hitters before we moved toward the back exit. A quick jump around a cinderblock corner brought us to a secluded little alcove leading to the door. And if I thought, just for a moment, about slamming her against the wall now that we were alone and giving in to the throb pulsing at the back of my throat, I’m sure it was just the adrenaline.

My hand was an inch from the door when I heard a loud click far too close to my head.

“Hands up, Hunter,” a familiar voice crawled up my spine. I turned to see a .32 pointed squarely at my face.

I complied, letting my piece hang loose on my finger as I did so. Fear covering her face, the Matthews girl did the same.

“Well, well…” I blustered, “Little Chuckie Gardner. Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“Keep up with the lip,” the greasy pug snorted, “and you’ll be the one takin’ a nap, blondie.”

I chuckled. Riley looked fast between the two of us, nervous and confused.

“I gotta say, your patter is improving, Chuckie. And here I didn’t think bottom-scrapers like you made enough to afford decent banter.”

“Oh, I’m comin’ up in the world, dolly.” He puffed out what passed for his chest. “Got me an outta town client with some fat pockets, lookin’ for a little songbird what made off with his property.”

He turned to Riley as he spoke, eliciting a soft squeak from the shaking girl. It was all I could do not to take Gardner out for that, but he had us covered. I kept up the thousand yard stall.

“You sure you got the right girl? June Christy’s in town and I hear she’s got some sticky fingers…”

“Stuff it, Hunter!” The gun moved closer to my face, causing Riley to briefly scream before wisely shutting up out of fear. “Now, you tell your little chippy here to make with the goods, or I’ll blow your head off just to show her I mean business.”

He meant business, all right, and even the farm girl could pick up on how bad our current situation was. She shook and stuttered, completely overwhelmed, tears threatening to escape her pooling eyes any second.

I didn’t blink.

“Loud pop like that? In the middle of a crowded club? You’d never get out.”

“Ha! What, am I supposed to be afraid of that pork roast at the door? By the time he waddles back here I’ll have what I need.”

“Oh, sweet Chuckie,” I sighed, “Frankie’s the least’a your problems…”

He looked confused for a brief instant before a burst of exploding glass erupted from the back of his head, sending his eyes rolling back and his body to the floor. Behind him stood a red dress bursting with deadly curves, staring lamentably at the broken bottle in her hand.

“A damn waste…” Topanga said as she tossed it aside.

“Took your sweet time, didn’t ya?” I smirked, lowing my arms and cocking my gun.

“You know I like to make an entrance,” she winked before turning deadly serious. “They after you?”

I shook my head and nodded toward the girl.

“How many more?” Topanga asked urgently.

“Too many,” I answered.

The boss lady lifted up her dress, revealing a thigh holster holding a little .22. She pulled it out.

“Get her outta here. I’ll do what I can.”

“No!” The brunette finally piped up. “Ms. Lawrence, you can’t—“

“Nobody comes after my girls,” the older woman growled. I shook my head.

“That's cinematic and all, but she’s right. They’re comin’ out after us anyway. Call the cops…” I thought for a moment. “Babineaux. Call Babineaux and tell him everything. He’ll spin it right with his bosses.”

Topanga nodded, shooting a sweet smile to Riley and a warning glare to me. I nodded before we bolted out the door.

The fog rolling off of the river made for a very neat cover as we ran toward my car, parked alongside a row of large wooden shipping containers. Riley’s hand never let her grip loosen, and I held on just as tight. I was impressed that she was able to keep up in those shoes, but now it was time to see just how impressed I could get.

“You’re driving,” I said as we reached the car. I tossed her the keys, which she caught with confused surprise.

“I—what?! I—why?!” She managed.

Down the road we heard the rev of an engine as a black Ford rounded the corner of Topanga’s warehouse at top speed, barreling right for us. We ducked as the first few shots rang out, me pulling out the Beretta.

“’Cause I’m gonna have my hands full…”

She made no further protest as we piled into my old heap. In a minor miracle it started up without needing the crank and the waitress from Hanover peeled out down along the river, keeping us just barely out of range of the shooters behind us.

But their engine was clearly held together with less tape than mine, because it didn’t take them long to start catching up.

“TURN HERE!” I yelled as we came up on a row of massive crates. The brunette obeyed, cutting the corner tight and forcing our playmates to whiz past before making a much larger loop. I took my chance as they turned to crank open the roof and fire off a few rounds. This did little to dissuade Gardner’s boys and they were at our heels again in moments.

“EEEP!!” squealed Riley as she came up fast on a sturdy-looking fence at the end of the docks, separating the area from the rest of the city. She banked hard left and started weaving her way through obstacles back closer to the river.

I had to admit, the gal had some stones behind the wheel. I hoped I’d get a chance to give her a proper test drive later, but we had to survive this first.

Another minute and they were practically at our bumper, firing shots whenever they could get a line. Riley didn’t make it easy, weaving back and forth around boxes, mooring posts and lifters to keep us at speed.

“Hell of a payback for the drink!” I yelled with a smile as I reloaded.

“Not what I had in mind!” she yelled back, her face a mask of focus.

I tried to reach out the window to fire, but two more bullets flew past too close and I ducked back in.

“And what DID you have in mind?!”

She yelped again as she plowed right through a small box in her path, sending large splinters flying behind her. The car behind us skidded.

“I was gonna dedicate a song to you!” Her voice rose with panic as the end of the dock started closing in fast, the dark water inviting us in.

“What song?!” I asked, narrowing my eyes as I checked my clip. One shot left.

“Moon River!” She just got the last word out when a shot shattered through the rear windshield and out the front, causing Riley to duck and scream, swerving the car.

“DAMMIT!” I yelled, hopping my ass up to sit on the open window, right hand gripping the door as I leaned out of the speeding car, aiming the Beretta back with my left…

“I love that song!”

Bang. Out went their front tire, sending the hitmen screeching out of control before sideswiping a big crate and flipping headlong into the river.

At the sound, Riley turned and slammed on the brakes just in time to avoid the same watery destination as I slid back inside. Once we’d stopped we each opened our door for a better look. In the darkness we could make out a few shapes splashing around the large sinking car just as sirens started to fill our ears, growing closer.

We shot each other a look over the roof.

“Just a hunch, but I’m betting you’d rather not have tea with the cops just now.”

She shook her head urgently.

I nodded and signaled her into the passenger seat. We rolled away just in time to see the flashing lights approach the crash site. A few blocks into the city and I was pretty sure they weren’t following us.

“Wh-where are we going?” With a moment to breathe I looked at the girl next to me, staring ahead and clearly in shock at the last few minutes of her life. She tried her best to look strong, to speak without shaking, but the break wasn’t far away. We needed a place to rest and think, but I questioned the wisdom of bringing such a hot commodity to my place, inviting all manner of interested parties and their very loud guns down on my head.

Then she turned to me, her endless hazel eyes wide beneath a firm and steady brow. Battered, but unbroken. Soft, fragile, but ready to fight.

“Home,” I finally said.


	7. Chapter 7

“I’m a young man, Hunter, but someday soon you’re gonna work me into an early grave!”

The voice on the other end of the phone was Zay Babineaux, a police detective of the very rare ‘mostly honest’ breed. He wasn’t quite as on the take as his brothers in blue, and he had a sense of rough justice that found us on the same side of a case more often than not. He cared too much about the citizens of New York to ever make commissioner, but he was one of very few men that I knew I could always count on in a scrap.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I purred into the receiver. The phone was already ringing when the frail and I got back to my apartment. I let it ride while I got the girl a blanket and a hot drink, but when we entered minute ten of the double bell symphony I couldn’t put it off any more.

“Oh, not much. Just some MANIACS who tore up the docks in a firefight! You tellin’ me you had nothing to do with this?”

“Did someone SAY that they saw me there?”

There was an audible grumble on the line. I smiled.

“Only ‘official’ witness we could find was a… well-dressed woman who just _happened_ to be walking by a _completely unremarkable_ warehouse on the waterfront in the middle of the night.”

“Ah, the best discretion money can buy…”

“As you say,” Babineaux grudgingly agreed. “Ms. Lawrence said that she saw the shooters chasing two Ukranian men in sailor’s gear, firing away from their car before careening into the river on their own.”

“Neat as a pin,” I goaded. “So why am I gettin’ the late night harassment?”

“Because the gang we fished out of the water belongs to Chuckie Gardner, who we found concussed and tied up outside of the same unsuspicious warehouse. They’ve all been pretty tight lipped, but one or two of ‘em have been cursing under their breath about a blonde for the last hour.”

“Well, congratulations, detective, that narrows it down to anyone with a peroxide bottle in the city.”

A long, exasperated sigh made its way through the phone.

“Listen, just… if you need help, don’t put it off ‘til the last minute, as usual. And if you’ve got something that can get us started with the interrogation…”

I paused for a minute, stroking my chin and looking into the next room at the huddled brunette nursing her coffee.

“Run the name ‘Minkus’ by ‘em. Guy outta Hanover, PA. He’s the money man. Start with Chuckie’s boys, then tell him that they rolled on him. He’ll crumble like a cheese soufflé.”

“You always use the best metaphors,” Babineaux said with a smirk I could hear across town. “Whoever you’re protecting, keep their head down until morning. I should be able to get something outta these mooks by then.”

“Good enough. Thanks, Zay.”

“Yeah, yeah… just stay safe, would’ya? I’d hate to have to find another poker game.”

“You could just start throwin’ your paycheck into the river, give ya the same result,” I chuckled. I heard him respond in kind before the click.

I headed back out of my bedroom, but not before grabbing a bottle of fine, domestic paint thinner and two relatively clean glasses. I sat down opposite the girl, who smiled at me bravely, and poured us each a drink.

“This’ll warm you up faster than the coffee.”

She hesitated for a second, but then reached for the glass, taking a careful sip.

“Th-thank you, Maya.” She waved her big browns around the dump, a smile curling onto her full and perfect lips. “I like your place.”

“Thanks, I have a lady come in once a month to burn it down.” She laughed at that a bit harder than she’d meant to, catching herself and holding back. When she met my eyes again she relaxed and let the rest of the laugh come out, prompting me to do the same.

“Really, Maya, thank you. I… don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there tonight.” She pointed those hazel globes at me, moist with reverence for her hero, her knight is shining armor. I wondered how much swooning she’d do if she knew why I’d really been there.

“I’m sure you’d have been alright. You were pretty cool under pressure. Not a whole lotta singers I know could switch from meltin’ hearts to burnin’ rubber that quick.”

She looked down, blushing a bit as she played with the rim of her glass.

“Well… I was about to faint the entire time, if that helps.”

“Sure plays into the story better…”

She raised her eyes to me at that, the smile dropping from her face.

“… and that’s a story I think it’s time you told. Do you know why those men were after you?”

Suddenly she looked more afraid than she had all night, as if a memory had snuck up on her and scared her senseless. Her eyes darted everywhere but at mine as she began breathing heavy, but then she reigned it in. She cooled down and met my stare with an extra dose of charm.

“I… I’d rather not talk about it, if that’s ok…”

I took a pull from my drink, shaking my head as I forced the barely-whiskey down my throat.

“Honey, I got no problem with a gal needin’ to protect her secrets, but when I’m getting’ shot at because of it I figure I oughtta be brought in on the caper.”

Her eyebrows arched as she looked at me, and any more dodges she had stored in her arsenal dried up.

“They… A man from… from my home town, he must have sent them. They want something that I took from him.”

Now we were gettin’ somewhere.

“What’d you take?”

“I…” she sighed. “Money. I took his money.”

I narrowed my eyes and leaned in closer.

“And why’d you do that, Jexica?”

The name startled her into looking up, before she turned sheepish at the reaction.

“I guess you can figure out that’s not my real name.”

“Me and anyone else with working ears,” I smirked. She smiled back at me, her shoulders relaxing. She trusted me.

And suddenly I felt like even more of a heel than usual.

“Let’s… we can talk about it later,” I found myself saying. I’m not sure why I let her off the hook right when we were close to the heart of it. I needed to know where this doll stood in this whole mess, and the reason for the theft was the best way to it. But… something about the way she looked at me… I didn’t want to lie to her. She trusted me, believed in me, and that made me want to be worthy of it. Of her.

She breathed a long sigh of relief.

“Thank you, Maya. You’re… I don’t deserve everything you’ve done for me.”

She moved her hand across the small gap between us to rest on mine. Without even thinking my thumb reached up to caress her skin. When I looked up she was blushing again, but she wasn’t looking away.

“It’s…” Suddenly I was the one trippin’ over words. “It’s not about deserving, I just…”

Our eyes connected again and I felt like I was diving deep underwater. All I could say was the truth.

“I’d sure hate to see something happen to you, honey.”

She smiled, letting out a small breath, her eyes flickering between mine and my lips. How the hell had we gotten this close to each other?

“You’re so sweet…” she whispered, just as entranced as I was.

She took just a tiny second to lick her lips before leaning forward.

“Hey,” I said, leaning back. “I don’t think…”

Those damn eyes again.

“I’m not good for you,” I managed, quiet and honest.

A tiny smile flickered on her lips. Her perfect, red lips.

“Only I decide that,” she breathed, moving closer again.

This was my last chance to come clean, to lay my cards on the table. This girl, whatever she’d done, she deserved to know the score, the whole score. I couldn’t let this go any further without giving her all the facts she needed to decide if I was a jerk worth takin’ a risk on. I made up my mind, then, that I’d tell her everything. About Friar, about the case, and everything I already knew about her. THAT was what she deserved. I opened my mouth…

And then she kissed me.

And every thought in my head burned out in a flash of purple fire.


	8. Chapter 8

Thank god I’d already rolled a cigarette the night before…

I reached over to the table beside my bed, hands unsteady and eyes heavy as they often were. But this particular morning the hangover had a name, even if she didn’t know I knew it. I flicked the light, igniting the rolled tobacco at my lips, my left arm never moving from under the naked woman next to me, sleepily nuzzling her head into the crook of my neck. We were still sweaty and sticky, but if it bothered her then she sure could fake a smile.

Given the night we’d just had, though, I’m pretty damn sure she didn’t need to fake anything.

“Hey, you…” she breathed groggily, glowing up at me.

“Hey, yourself,” I chuckled back, letting out a soft blast of smoke. I aimed it away from her but she closed her eyes and inhaled deep anyway, like she was trying to catch any breath that came out of my mouth. She didn’t need to try so hard. She’d had my breath in her little fist since I saw her on stage.

“That was…” she trailed off, dreamily.

“Perfect,” I answered, confident that I was right.

“Perfect,” she confirmed, smiling up at me with enough glow to light up Broadway.

“Gotta say…” I took a drag, this time just letting it seep out into the air past my lips. “… I didn’t expect half’a that from a good gal like you.”

She giggled, blushing into my skin and pressing soft kisses into my chest.

“Maybe you just bring it out of me.”

“Well then, I’m gonna have to send myself a nice fruit basket for that.”

She laughed, but rose up and kissed me slow before she was done. The laughter filled my mouth, tossed around by lips and tongues, until I breathed it out smooth and soft. She stared into my eyes with nothing but joy in hers. 

“I hope you’ll share…” she teased.

“Let’s see how you behave after breakfast…” This time I moved in for the kiss, but harder, commanding. She melted into it like she was catching a buzz, and hell, I was too. Everything about this girl was throwin’ me upside down, and I didn’t have the sense to worry about how dead that was gonna get me.

“You’re making me breakfast?” She swooned after I let her out of the embrace.

“Not unless you’ve got a hankerin’ for a baking soda omelet,” I shot back. “Haven’t restocked the icebox in a while…”

“Define a ‘while,’” she grinned.

“I could cut ya a slice of milk for your coffee.”

She laughed again with a playful nudge, one I returned with a loving smirk.

“Maybe we should go out,” she conceded.

“Trust me, honey, the Silver Diner down the street fixes a pancake special to make a grown woman weep. I’ve been livin’ off of ‘em since I was in pigtails.”

She seemed to perk up at this, cocking her head a bit before nestling back into my chest.

“So you grew up around here?”

I frowned, recalling the last few moments of our conversation to realize that, yeah, I’d let that slip, hadn’t I? It usually took a gallon of booze and the liberal application of a brass knuckle to get me talkin’ about my past, but then, it’d been a while since I’d had my guard down quite this much with anybody.

I liked it. God damn me, I liked it a lot.

“Yeah,” I finally nodded. She looked up with eyes that were expectant and assuring. An invitation, coupled with a gentle request. I sighed.

“Over on Baxter. Little hole-in-the-wall with my folks… until dad hit the road lookin’ for work.”

Her eyebrows arched and she slid her hand down my naked body to find mine and hold it.

“I mean, it was the Depression, and jobs were hard to come by. Made sense to head out west and see what he could find to prop the family up.” I chuckled dryly. “Funny, they must have a real shit postal system out there, ‘cause we never heard word one from the bum again.”

I wasn’t even looking at her, now. The story was pulling me along for the ride, all on its own.

“Ma… she broke. Cried all night, worked dead-eyed in that diner all day… He left and she shattered like a damn doll.” I shook my head, determined. I recognized the motion. I hadn’t done it in years. “Not me. I saw how weak it made her, how broken… just because he left. No one was ever gonna have that kinda power over me.”

I felt a soft caress on my cheek and followed it. She was close to me, tears falling. The weird thing? It didn’t feel strange at all. I’d known this girl less than twelve hours, and it made all the sense in the world that she’d cry for me.

I can’t even tell ya how good it felt.

I wiped her tears and chucked her chin gently. She smiled and kissed my fist, holding it in her hand.

Her eyes changed, then, staring at me over my own fingers. Something shifted, like she was working out a problem. The answer came and she lowered my hand, revealing a determined set to a beautiful jaw.

“Maya… about last night. The… trouble I’m in…”

I hadn’t even asked. She was gonna spill it all, and I didn’t even have to ask.

She trusted me.

“Honey, you don’t—“

“Maya, you… you’ve been honest with me, and… I need to do the same. I’m scared but…” She looked deep into me, raising her hand to my unguarded chest. “This… this isn’t just me, right?”

I tried my damnedest to think of a snarky comeback to that, but there were no more words left in my head.

“No, honey. Not by a million miles.”

Her smile grew with courage, and I knew she was ready to tell me everything I already knew. Everything I’d gotten at the beginning of this case. Everything I’d kept to myself while I slept with this sweet woman, who trusted me enough to confess to a crime. To tell me everything.

I couldn’t take it another second.

“Back… back at home… I was—“

“Riley, stop…”

“No, Maya, I want you to…”

She trailed off as it set in, the name I’d just used. Her eyes grew wide with confusion… and fear.

“You… I never…”

“You didn’t have to, Riley Matthews, formerly of Hanover, PA.” I breathed out heavy as I rose up on the bed to meet her panicked gaze. “I’m… a private detective. I was hired to find you. I was at the club last night to ask if you wanted to be found. But then… well, I never quite got around to it.”

It was breaking my heart to see the shuddering breaths in her chest as she stared at me, now with the wild focus of a sheep staring down a wolf.

“Hired… by who?”

I raised a hand to calm her, and she darted back, covering up as best she could with my blanket.

I hadn’t cried since I was four, but I could’a right then.

“Riley… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I didn’t know if you—“

“Who. Hired. You.” Her words were slow and heavy. I sighed the same way.

“Relax, I’m not on Minkus’ dime.” I turned my legs over the other side of the bed, ostensibly to get dressed, but really because I couldn’t look at her anymore.

“It was a sheriff from the ol’ homestead, Friar. He’s lookin’ to keep you safe and, after last night, I can’t say I blame him…” I pulled my shirt up over my shoulders and started buttoning. “Listen, let’s… let’s get those pancakes. We can trade details and you can decide what you want to—“

And then I felt a pain all too familiar, as what I was sure was my own blackjack connected with the back of my head, and the world started to turn dark around me. I only had a split second before I passed out, and in that instant a single thought rocketed through my head.

_Ava’ll never let me live this one down._


	9. Chapter 9

I came to with a rhythmic pounding in my ears, which made for a nice harmony with the one in my skull.

After the rumba blaring all around my head the next thing I noticed was a sore tingle all along my arms, which made sense as they were hanging above my head with handcuffs attaching them to the iron bedframe I’d picked up on the side of the road a few winters ago.

Normally, step one in this situation would be to use my classic escape-from-handcuffs maneuver that used to drive Zay crazy when we first met and he still tried to arrest me every other week. Unfortunately, these were the brand new pair I’d bragged about to Smackle, and a major selling point on them was the fact that I couldn’t slip out of them. I figured I’d have plenty of time to fiddle with ‘em and figure out a trick to ‘em, just in case… well, this sort of thing ever happened.

And honestly, it happened more often than I’d like to admit.

One of the pounding noises suddenly stopped, allowing me to realize that it hadn’t been just my head, but rather somebody beating an irregular bosa nova on my front door. I heard the jangle of keys and my not insubstantial lock slipping open, allowing whoever had been knocking access into my apartment.

The fact that I’d heard keys instead of the click and clack of a lock pick set meant that it could only be one person coming in to my rescue…

And that was when I opened my eyes and realized what I was wearing.

Ava’s eyes grew big as dinner plates when she opened my bedroom door to find me chained to the bed, scowl on my face, clad only in my underwear and a barely buttoned white shirt.

“Wow… and it isn’t even my birthday…”

I dug deep and managed to scowl even harder.

“Hilarious. Get me outta this, wouldja?”

“I dunno,” she cooed, gloved finger gently at the side of her mouth. “This seems like a good time to discuss a raise…”

“The only raise you’re gonna get is on the tip of my boot if you don’t spring me this second!”

She chuckled, looking around casually.

“Can I assume that your small town waitress trussed you up like this?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Elementary, Watson,” she smirked as she reached down to the floor. “You’d only get naked AND let your guard down like an idiot for a truly tasty dish, and this plot’s only got one of those… besides yours truly.”

She rose back up with a small piece of silver in her hand.

“Hey, this one actually left the key behind! She must really like ya!”

A cloud passed over my eyes as my wrists were freed.

“Yeah… I think she did…”

I shook it off, standing up and rushing to get dressed.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“About quarter to 6.”

I turned, wide eyed.

“PM?!”

“Well, to be fair, you haven’t slept in a couple’a days. This gal probably did you a favor.”

“Yeah,” I said, hiking up my pants, “and I’m about to return it. You hear from Babineaux yet?”

She nodded. “He got Chuckie and his all-girl chorus singing by dawn. Called back again an hour ago to say that the feds had picked up Minkus based on their testimony.”

“That was quick.”

“Evidently, they already had a case built against our favorite land baron, and ordering a hit on a girl was the last piece they needed to move in. He’s cooked, accounts frozen, the whole nine!”

My well-rumpled suit back on and my tie as straight as it ever was, I grabbed my blackjack (which she left) from the table and looked around for my gun (which, evidently, she didn’t). I zipped past Ava into the kitchen, flinging open the breadbox to reveal not bread, but a charming revolver my grandpa’d brought back from the Great War. A couple loose bullets were scattered alongside it, and I scooped them into my pocket as Ava caught up.

“Um, why are we arming up, soldier? This is good news, yeah? We can call Friar and let him know—“

“We’re not calling Friar.”

Ava raised her eyebrow in confusion, a rare occasion for the move to come out.

“Why not? He’s our client…”

“Two reasons,” I offered flatly as I stuffed the piece in my belt and tossed on my coat. “One, I’d bet that he already knows…”

Ava scrunched her nose. “How--?”

“And two, because I forgot the most important rule of detective work.” I looked back at her and, from her reaction, I must have been wearing a more sincere expression than was my usual style, because she stopped dead with genuine human emotion. If I hadn’t woken up from my catnap with a horrifying level of clarity on this case, I might have been able to enjoy it.

“Which is…?” she asked.

“Always ask the right question.” I sighed, my brow furrowing. “When Friar came in he said that Riley probably stole Minkus’ money to fund her dreams of stardom, but she’s been scared as a kitten every second I’ve known her.”

Her earnest expression broke for a moment to let out a good natured leer.

“Well, I sure hope not _every_ second…”

I shrugged.

“Granted. But a girl like that doesn’t have the nerve to pull a job off on a dangerous gangster just for kicks.” I stared hard at my assistant. “And she didn’t knock me out until she heard who hired me.”

Ava’s eyes got wide again, her mouth dropping open.

“So… it’s not, ‘why did Riley run away…?’”

I nodded as I opened the door.

“It’s ‘what was she running _from?_ ’”


	10. Chapter 10

A light rain had left a thick mist rolling through the streets of New York that night, and not even the platforms at Grand Central were exempt from their touch. I walked cautiously through the earthbound clouds, turning my head around each pillar on the outdoor stop, the hiss of the train next to me making it tough to be sure that I was alone in the dark and foreboding space. Grandpa’s revolver still sat tucked in my belt. I prayed that I wouldn’t need it.

It had only been a few hours since Ava’s wake-up call, but it had been a full day since Riley Matthews knocked me out cold and ran for the hills. I made a quick stop at Topanga’s, then at the address she’d provided me for Riley’s apartment. The place was ransacked, but pretty clearly by someone packing in a hurry. There was no luggage, so I assumed she’d taken it with her.

She was skipping town, and I didn’t blame her one bit for the impulse.

Only one problem: It was a move that would get her killed.

Grand Central was the first stop I’d made, figuring an out-of-town girl might not know every little place in the city to catch a ride outta Dodge. I caught a break when the ticket seller recognized her picture, and an even bigger one when he told me that the train she’d booked on hadn’t left yet. I was ready for a daring pursuit across state lines, but now here she was, within reach.

Not that she wanted to be reached by me at the moment, but one thing at a time.

I was coming to the end of the empty platform, approaching the final two pillars holding up the roof above. The train didn’t leave for twenty minutes, but I had a feeling that she was the kinda girl to show up early. Rather than rush forward, I opted to stand my ground and make my pitch.

“Honey…” I called out into the darkness, “Listen, I know I’m not your favorite person right now, but we gotta set aside all that for a minute if we’re gonna get you outta this alive.”

Nothing. The darkness stared back at me.

“I get that you’re mad about breakfast, but honestly, it’s hard to buy a girl some flapjacks when you’re handcuffed to a bed…”

“Is this a JOKE to you?!” Her voice rang out seconds before her slender figure emerged from behind the right pillar, closest to the train. She had my gun trained shakily on me.

Poor kid had no idea that if I’d wanted to hurt her she never would’ve had time to raise the piece. I put my hands up in the air.

“Not even a little… but it made you come out without me comin’ back there after you.”

Her brow seemed to flinch a bit as she kept both eyes and Beretta leveled at my head.

“I’m not going with Friar,” she insisted, a sob hanging just behind her stern yell.

“No, you’re not,” I offered calmly. “I didn’t know the whole story when I took the job, but it’s pretty damn clear to me now. No way I’m letting him near you. We’ll get you far away from here, but we gotta do it smart. He’s been tailing me since I found you, and I’ll just bet he’s been at your heels since you left my place today.”

She was shaking harder now, two tears silently streaming down her beautiful face.

“Now, maybe he’s waiting ‘til you’re outta the city to make his move. Makes sense, seein’ as how you’ve got more than one interested party on your back. But you hop on that train without well and truly losing him, and there’s no way you ride happily into the sunset.”

I took a step forward. She flinched, but only for a second.

“Let me help you. We’ll make this right together.”

More tears fell as she gripped the gun harder. For the first time since she pulled it out her finger moved toward the trigger.

“I… I can’t trust you…” She practically bucked with each word, like it caused her physical pain to say it. It sure as hell did to me.

I sighed hard, lowering my hands. She didn’t shoot me.

“Riley… I’m sorry. In my line’a work… you’re never sure who you can trust. I kept you in the dark, and that put you in even more danger than you started with, which is sayin’ something.”

She looked like she wanted to chuckle at that, but she didn’t.

“And look, maybe trusting me isn’t the best idea! Hell, maybe I was foolin’ myself this morning when… when I saw us together. Really together. Maybe… that’s just not in the cards for dames like me.”

I stubbornly shook a few tears away.

“But none’a that matters now. What matters is keeping you safe, and honey, if I have to return the favor from this morning to get you somewhere outta his reach, I will… but I’d rather we did this together.”

I reached out my hand, taking another step closer. Her lip quivered behind the gun, but again, she didn’t shoot me. Her cheeks were rivers now, dripping down to the collar of her trench coat.

“I… I want to…” she managed. After another moment she started to lower the gun, the sobs coming forward at last.

“I just want this to be over!”

I was moving toward her when a shadow burst out of the train behind her, grabbing her gun and putting a meaty arm around her neck in one smooth motion. I pulled my revolver, but he already had his human shield right where he wanted her, my Beretta poking into her temple.

“And so it is, little darlin’,” Friar oozed through a satisfied smile.

Riley struggled, panicked, but couldn’t break free of his grip. With her in front of him I didn’t have anything resembling a clean shot.

“This how you ‘look after’ girls in your town, Huckleberry?”

He chuckled.

“Not usually, no… only stupid little sinners who turn down the best offer they’ll ever get.” He was practically growling now, and it took everything I had not to pull the trigger.

“So a girl doesn’t wanna join your little harem and you chase her across two states?”

“I wanted to make her my WIFE!” He was frantic now, outraged. “But she thought she was too good for me… ME!”

“I’m shocked.”

His snarl turned into a smile at that.

“Well, don’t matter none now, does it, sweet pea?” He leaned into her, making Riley shriek for an instant before the gun at her head reasserted itself. “We’ll head on back to Hanover together, where I’ll teach you some proper damn manners before we go see the preacher.”

I clicked the hammer of the revolver.

“Not gonna happen, sheriff.”

He laughed.

“And how’re you gonna stop me from getting’ us both onto this here train? You’ve got no shot. What, you gonna _shoot_ her to _save_ her, tough guy?”

My lip curled up as my grip on the gun tightened.

“If it means sparing her what you’ve got planned for her… you’re god damn right I will.”

He laughed again, searching my face for some sign of uncertainty, of a wavering resolve.

The smile faded as he found none.

My eyes shifted to the terrified woman in his grasp, staring at me confused and horrified. I locked eyes with her. My soft but firm stare was a question. After a moment her jaw locked, her brow furrowed in determination, and she nodded in answer.

Friar’s breathing accelerated at Riley’s movement, sending his eyes back to me and the cannon I had trained at his head. His eyes darted between us again, his breath faster and faster.

“NO!” He yelled, pulling his gun away from Riley’s head to fire at me.

Bang.

Riley moved her hands away from her ears as I approached. I saw her turn to see the twitching form of Sheriff Lucas Friar on the ground, a red hole in his chest, drowning in his own blood.

We stood there wordlessly for a moment, the only sound the labored gurgles of the man at our feet.

“Is he… going to die?” She asked softly.

I nodded.

She reached down for my dropped Baretta. When she stood up, she took no time to hesitate before shooting him in the forehead, ending his struggle.

“I’m sorry…” she said after a long moment. “I… needed to be the one who…”

“Honey…” I rested my hand on her shoulder, prompting her to turn her red eyes toward me.

“Nice shot.”

She finally let out a breath, a short chuckle following it. She looked back down at Friar.

“It’s over,” she breathed.

I nodded again.

“And now you can go home,” I said, trying to sound encouraging.

She looked at me confused.

“But… Minkus…”

“Is on ice. The Feds picked him up after our playmates from last night turned on him.” I smiled, relief settling into my shoulders as the words passed my lips. “You’re free and clear, kid. We can get you on a train home tonight.”

She looked down for a moment, a smile flickering on and off at the corners of her lips.

“Home…” she said quietly.

Suddenly, her hand was in mine.

“What if… what if Hanover doesn’t feel like home anymore?”

I raised an eyebrow, genuinely confused about where this was going. She raised her head, and a smile broke onto her tear-streaked face.

“What if I’ve never felt more at home… than I did this morning, waking up in your arms?”

My mouth opened as I stared into her endless hazel eyes. My friends, I’ve been shot, stabbed, beat up and knocked out more times than I can count… but this haymaker left me grinning like a goon and begging for more.

“Well, then… I’d say you’re a glutton for punishment, sweetheart.”

She laughed, pure and free, as I swept her up in my arms and kissed her, long, deep and forever.

It wouldn’t be easy. The life of a private detective was full of danger and daring-do, and if she stayed with me I could practically guarantee that last nights’ firefight wouldn’t be her last…

But in that kiss, we knew everything we needed to know. This was the real deal, and they’d have to pry it outta my cold, dead hands.

Our lips parted, our smiles smeared across every inch of our faces as the train whistle blew, heralding the departure of Riley’s escape… and the arrival of something better.

 

\-----

 

The sharp wail of a train whistle was enough to jolt Maya’s head up from her girlfriend’s shoulder, leaving her looking discombobulated around the Matthews’ living room. On the TV, the words THE END appeared in script over a grainy black and white image as tinny trumpets blared in a triumphant musical climax.

She looked around in the dim light cast by the TV at her friends, sprawled on and around the couch, cuddled together and sleeping. She smiled, remembering their Spring Break plan to stay home and watch movies all week after a stressful semester at NYU.

Leaning against the sofa, Lucas blinked awake as well, turning his head up toward Maya with a groggy smile.

She promptly punched him hard in the shoulder.

“OW!” he whisper-screamed, careful not to rouse a sleeping Zay next to him. “What was that for?”

“Trust me,” she answered sleepily, “You deserved it.”

Confused, Lucas nodded back to sleep as Maya returned to Riley. She cuddled close and ran her hand up her girlfriend’s shirt to rest on her stomach, eliciting a smiling moan.

“Mmm… ready for bed, Peaches?”

Maya grinned, nuzzling closer.

“Not yet… need a lullaby…”

Eyes still closed, Riley smiled wider, raising her hand to gently brush through Maya’s hair, humming Moon River softly in her ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS WAS SUPER FUN!!! Thank you guys SO MUCH for all of your super sweet comments! Your encouragement means so much to me, I can't even tell you! I really hope you enjoyed our dramatic finale! MORE RILAYA ON THE WAY!

**Author's Note:**

> Y'know, these kinda stories are fun to do chapter by chapter! Hopefully it won't take as long as GM Baker Street did to finish!
> 
> Comments and Reviews are the bee's knees!


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